


#EvilOverlordProblems

by Kantayra



Series: The Masters and Doctors in the Matrix [9]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Banter, Be Careful What You Wish For, Established Relationship, Fluff, Gratuitous Doctor Poaching, Harems, Humor, Jelly Babies, M/M, Non-Con Roleplay, The Master is a player
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:54:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23945011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantayra/pseuds/Kantayra
Summary: The Master’s latest wily trap to capture the Doctor in his underground harem works well…perhapstoowell. Suddenly overrun with more Doctors than he can possibly have his wicked way with, what’s a poor villain to do? #EvilOverlordProblems
Relationships: Fifth Doctor/The Master (Ainley), Fourth Doctor/The Master (Ainley), Sixth Doctor/The Master (Ainley), The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who), Third Doctor/The Master (Delgado)
Series: The Masters and Doctors in the Matrix [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1592659
Comments: 21
Kudos: 65





	#EvilOverlordProblems

**Author's Note:**

> Contains a harem (along the lines of cheesy-romance stereotypes) and the sort of corny non-con roleplay one would expect therein.

The Master entered the room, shut the door firmly behind him, and leaned back against it to admire his handiwork.

The room was spacious and circular in shape. The walls were covered by wooden screens carved in delicate filigree and arabesques, interlaid with canopies and curtains of the finest silks, soft and warm and sensual: perfect harem chic. The room was lit by a soft glow from lamps that were suspended by bronze fittings from the dome above. In between the lamps hung incense censers, which filled the air with sweet, aromatic spices.

At the very top of the domed ceiling, fifty feet above, was a round skylight. The light from the alien sun shone down in dramatic rays onto the centrepiece of the room: an enormous circular bed, piled high with dozens of pillows done in blue silk, strewn with yet more gold-embroidered blue-silk sheets, and abutted on opposite sides by two ornate wooden nightstands: one with assorted decorative glass bottles and phials, each containing a different scented oil, and the other with fruits and sweets, pleasures for the taste-buds when all other pleasures had been seen to.

And the prize of the room was most definitely a pleasure that needed to be seen to.

The Master greedily eyed the Fifth Doctor’s body, from the golden halo of his hair that spilled across the silken pillows in almost cherubim innocence, to the gauzy see-through top that covered his upper arms and the edges of his chest but fell open to expose the Doctor’s splendid physique, to the billowy harem-pants that clad the Doctor’s thighs, a sensual feast to the touch.

As the Master leered, the Fifth Doctor stirred once, stilled, and then awoke slowly from his drugged haze into his new world of indulgence.

His golden eyelashes fluttered, and his supple lips parted and closed, before his pink tongue flicked out to moisten them. The Master fought back a moan.

Then, the Doctor shook his head, popped his neck, and blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to force back the last of the drug’s lingering effects. Apparently baffled by what he saw, he then blinked many times more for good measure, and when that didn’t make the harem scene vanish, he suddenly turned with sharp attention to where the Master was lurking in the shadows.

“With us, at last?” the Master said, voice as silky as the room itself, and strode towards the bed with obvious lascivious intent.

The Doctor yelped and sat up. He suddenly realised what he was wearing, and yelped again, clutching the very thin sheets to his chest. He didn’t look any less enticing wrapped in expensive, gold-embroidered silks.

“I should have known it was you!” the Doctor objected prettily, cheeks flushed and blue eyes flashing. “What with the cheesy supervillain décor. I have to say, I’m disappointed: I thought you’d at least go for 21st-century or later. Something post-modern, say? Or a bit of that palatial surrealist look you put into Castrovalva, at the very least. This is just—”

“Opulent?” the Master suggested.

“Tacky,” the Doctor retorted.

“But Doctor,” the Master said, dropping one knee onto the bed, his eyes never leaving his delectable prey, “you _like_ tacky villainy.”

The Doctor let out an outraged gasp. “I absolutely do _not_!” he lied, pointlessly. “What”—he gulped when the Master brought his second knee up onto the mattress—“ever gave you”—he scooted back frantically as the Master crawled slowly up the mattress toward him—“that ridiculous idea?”

The Master paused in his pursuit, and the Doctor practically _whimpered_ in anticipation. There was a very noticeable tent in the silk sheets, right where a certain portion of the Doctor’s anatomy would be. “Of course,” the Master teased, “you don’t like it at _all_.”

The Doctor glared at him in a manner that he probably thought was intimidating, but this Doctor’s frowns had always reminded the Master of a perplexed puppy, as if he just couldn’t get anger to work _right_ on his face: a rare Doctor whose bite was worse than his bark. Desire, though… Oh, this Doctor wore desire so very well…

“That was a dirty trick, you know,” the Doctor said in a fetching pique. “Booby-trapped Jelly Babies! Is nothing sacred to you?”

“One must use the proper bait for the prey that one is trying to lure in,” the Master insisted.

The Doctor side-eyed him. “Do I at least get the Jelly Babies when you’re done with me?”

The Master laughed delightedly. “My dear Doctor, are you actually offering to trade your body for Jelly Babies? There is a word for that, you know.” He gestured to the nightstand where there sat the bag of Jelly Babies, amidst the arrangement of pomegranates, bananas, grapes, and passionfruit (which, despite the fact that they were generally unpalatable to Time Lords, obviously needed to be present for the more salacious connotations). “Never fear, you precious sweets are here, awaiting your pleasure.”

The Doctor’s face turned red, but he didn’t deny it.

“Hmm,” the Master hummed contentedly to himself and inched closer, slowly removing the black leather glove on his right hand by pulling free one finger at a time, “I admit you’re not the Doctor I expected to ensnare with this particular trap, but I must say that, by sheer good fortune, that ensemble looks rather enchanting on you.”

The Doctor squirmed and tried to pull the diaphanous fabric of his top closed, with little effect. “Yes, well, perhaps you should let me go in that case, until your intended comes along.”

The Master had finished with his right glove now and turned to removing the left one. “Oh no, my dear, don’t think I’m going to look a pretty gift Doctor in the mouth. You will provide more than adequate entertainment in the meantime.”

The Doctor wet his lips again alluringly, and he made a dive for the far side of the bed to escape. The Master anticipated him and lunged, tackling him roughly back onto to the bed, and inserting his thigh demandingly between the Doctor’s legs, his hands pinning the Doctor's to the mattress on either side of his head.

“Release me at once!” the Doctor struggled ineffectively, and ended up doing little more than to rub his body against the Master’s in all sorts of arousing ways.

“I don’t believe,” the Master smirked down at him, and nudged his knee up against the Doctor’s rising erection, “that you really mean that, hmm?”

The Doctor twitched piteously in his grip, tossing his head to one side to expose the lovely pale column of his throat. “U-Unhand me!” he insisted weakly – notably far more weakly than he ever had when he was genuinely displeased. He was usually quite a bit better at escaping traps as well. Telling.

The Master let out a hot, suggestive breath against the Doctor’s pulses-point and watched him quiver with anticipation. Oh, such a sensual, responsive Doctor, this one was, so ripe for the plucking…

“No, I think I'd prefer to ‘hand’ you more instead,” the Master menaced, and twisted the Doctor’s arms so that they were up above his head and Master could hold them both in place with his left. With his right hand, he reached down and ripped apart the Doctor’s flimsy pants.

The Doctor squirmed desperately, trying to escape. However, his erection strained up eagerly for the Master, as exquisite as the rest of this Doctor. The Master found that he couldn’t resist encircling it with his palm and stroking the Doctor in slow, tortuous motions.

“Y-You’ll never get away with this villainy!” the Doctor protested delectably, writhing his hips into the Master’s touch in a way that was probably supposed to seem like an attempt to get away, but in actuality was anything but. “I-I-I’ll never give in to your treacherous perversions!”

Mmm, this Doctor really was getting quite into the spirit of things, wasn’t he? The Master would have to reward him for that.

“Then, my dear,” the Master growled dangerously, “I’ll just have to take what I want, won’t I?” He kissed the Doctor bruisingly then, at the same time that he pulled hard on the Doctor’s pretty cock.

The Doctor tried to resist for one moment, but then the Master succeeded in forcing his tongue past the Doctor’s lips, and with a clever flick of his wrist, the Doctor came hard and fast and messy.

While the Doctor was limp and spent and trembling, the Master took advantage of the situation to roll the Doctor over onto his stomach, baring the smooth curve of his pale behind to the Master’s ravenous gaze. The Master roughly yanked down the sleeves of the Doctor’s top, so that the fabric effectively bound the Doctor’s hands behind him.

“What a pretty picture you make,” he purred seductively in the Doctor’s ear, spooning the Doctor’s body from behind and letting the Doctor feel the full length of his still-fully-clothed cock against the Doctor’s lovely little cleft. “It’s like you were _made_ for me. So responsive, so eager. Do you admit it now, Doctor? After coming all over yourself like an adolescent, with barely a touch from my hands? That I am the Master and you were always meant to serve at my pleasure?”

“N-N-Never…” the Doctor objected and tried to thrash under him.

The end result was really rather stimulating. The Master reached out quickly for one of the bottles of perfumed oil on the nightstand; this first round, at least, was going to be over embarrassingly quickly if the Doctor kept up this captive-innocent act up so well.

“Your body says otherwise,” the Master continued to taunt him, upending the bottle at the base of the Doctor’s spine and spreading his cheeks so that the oil slid wet and warm and sleek down in between. The Doctor’s hole twitched enticingly at the first touch. “Keen and ready for me, even when your lips say no.” The Master smirked and slid one slicked-up finger right past the clenching ring of muscles.

The Doctor let out an ecstatic/anguished cry, threw his head back, and arched his back up beautifully to display his arse better for the Master.

The Master reached down to unfasten his belt and…

The tinkling sound of a bell echoed through the room.

The Master paused.

The Doctor blinked.

A beat.

“What,” the Doctor finally asked cautiously, “was that?”

The Master groaned with frustration. “The warning bell,” he answered. “It sounds whenever someone new is caught in my trap.”

The Doctor looked back at him over his shoulder, expression vaguely offended. “What, like the chime over a shop door? Letting you know you have another customer?”

“It’s not like that!” the Master said peevishly, because this really was the worst timing.

“Tell me,” the Doctor demanded darkly, “that you’re not going to leave me here like this, while you go off and romp with another me?”

The Master winced because that was _exactly_ what he’d have to do. He patted the Doctor’s sweet, welcoming bum in rueful apology. “I’ll just be a minute,” he promised.

“Oh,” the Doctor huffed, sat up, and pulled his arms swiftly and easily from the sleeves where the Master had had them ‘tied’ behind his back, so that he could cross them over his chest in irritation, “ _will you_ , now?” Incredible how this Doctor could go from burning passion to icy disdain in an instant; he was by far the Master’s ficklest.

“I promise, my love,” the Master soothed, and leaned in to try to appease this Doctor with a kiss.

The Doctor jerked his head away sharply at the last minute, so the Master was presented with his turned cheek instead. The Master kissed that anyway, tenderly. He rested his hand on the small of the Doctor’s bare back, rubbing placating little circles into the muscles there, and slowly kissed his way back to the Doctor’s mouth. This time the Doctor did not refuse him, to the Master’s relief.

“Had I a choice, I would not abandon you for all the universe,” the Master swore against the Doctor’s lips when he finally pulled away. “But you know how you are, my beloved. I cannot leave another you waiting, either. If I don’t answer that, you’re bound to escape and run amok ruining all my plans, per usual.”

The Doctor’s mien softened at the truth of that, but only marginally. “And if you don't get back soon to debauch me _properly_ ,” the Doctor informed him primly, “ _I’m_ bound to escape and run amok ruining all your plans, per usual, too.”

“Understood.” The Master gave him a second, parting kiss and dashed for the door at the very real threat. The Master knew only too well that, when the Fifth Doctor’s shoulder turned cold, it turned _very_ cold indeed.

***

The Master had set up his trap as an infinite hotel: whenever a new Doctor fell into it, they were slotted into a newly-created Room Number 1. This had, in effect, temporarily relegated the Fifth Doctor to Room Number 2, to which the Master was really quite eager to return. It was hardly his fault that more than one Doctor was nibbling on his bait today.

He opened the door to the new Room Number 1 to find his intended prey captured in the silks and gauze of another lavish bedroom.

“Ah, my dear Doctor,” the Master purred, shutting the door behind him and stalking nefariously over to bed, “you have fallen for my diabolical trap, as I knew you would!”

The Fourth Doctor lounged casually back against the pillows, looked briefly up at the Master with disinterest, and then tossed a Jelly Baby into the air. He failed rather spectacularly at catching it in his mouth, and it bounced off the tip of his nose comically before vanishing into the bed sheets. The Doctor’s eyes widened, and he immediately began searching frantically through the silks and pillows, trying to find the evasive sweet.

The Master had to admit, the effect of the harem attire on the Fourth Doctor was a bit…unusual. The Fourth Doctor managed to wear it like his usual iconoclastic clothing, which was to say that he seemed completely oblivious to how rumpled he looked; it rather spoiled the effect. However, a half-naked Doctor was still a half-naked Doctor, and the Master was still uncomfortably hard from his aborted adventure with the Fifth Doctor.

Finally, the Fourth Doctor found the Jelly Baby, popped it into his mouth, and leaned back to grin cheekily at the Master as he ate it. “Hello there,” he said, infuriatingly unperturbed as ever. “Been reading too much Arabian Nights of late? I’d thought evil overlords had given up this shtick long ago.” His eyes darted about nervously as if worried someone might be listening in. “It’s not the done thing anymore,” he stage-whispered.

“Now, now, Doctor,” the Master circled him hungrily, rather warming to the notion of this Doctor dressed so submissively while acting so brazenly, “if you objected so stringently, you would hardly have walked into my trap to begin with.”

The Fourth Doctor popped a second Jelly Baby into his mouth. “Either that, or I was hungry,” he teased. Always _teasing_ , this Doctor, acting so high and mighty and just out of the Master’s grasp…

The Master pounced, the Fourth Doctor dodged, and they ended up colliding in the middle of the bed, sending the Doctor’s Jelly Babies scattering _everywhere_.

“I was eating those!” the Fourth Doctor protested, and eeled out from the Master’s clutches.

“You can eat to your hearts’ content, after I’m finished with you,” the Master retorted, and tried nabbing the Doctor from behind. He only succeeded in this endeavour because the Doctor spotted several Jelly Babies in a fold of the sheets mid-escape, and paused to eat them. The Master wrapped his arms around the Doctor from behind and held on for dear lives, because this Doctor was by _far_ the slipperiest of them all, and if he wasn’t trapped well and thoroughly, he could escape in a heartsbeat.

That was, in fact, why he’d set up this whole elaborate trap in the first place: give the Fourth Doctor any outs, and he’d wriggle away before the Master could have his wicked way with him.

The Doctor was doing some suitably impressive wriggling now, in fact. He actually succeeded in getting his body out from underneath the Master, and twisted himself around in the Master’s arms so that they were face-to-face.

“Having fun?” he teased with an eyebrow waggle, and gave the Master’s long-suffering cock an impertinent squeeze.

The Master groaned in rapture and thrusted up into the Doctor’s touch. “You’re _abominable_!” he accused.

The Doctor pouted. “Me?” He pointed to himself. “Only before teatime. I try to be as ominable as possible, come evening.”

“Come _now_!” the Master insisted, and tried tearing off the Fourth Doctor’s skimpy clothing the same way he had with the Fifth. It turned out that sort of thing was quite a lot easier the when other party facilitated the whole disrobing venture, as could be witnessed by the fact that the Fourth Doctor had very little difficulty at all getting the Master’s own trousers and pants down and off.

Somehow, during all this, the Master had got himself rolled onto his back beneath the Doctor, and the fucking that ensued didn’t precisely occur in the direction the Master had intended.

The Master groaned at the first thrust of the Doctor up inside him, and decided that he really didn’t care that it ruined the entire point of the enterprise when the man dressed in harem-slave attire buggered the man dressed in master attire. After all, things never went remotely according to plan whenever the Fourth Doctor was involved, which was part of the charm.

The Fourth Doctor fucked him hard and fast, grinning infuriatingly the whole time and – at one exceptionally infuriating juncture – pausing to eat yet another Jelly Baby that had bounced from the mattress onto the Master’s chest at the force of the Doctor’s rhythmic thrusts.

The Doctor came quickly after that, shuddering atop the Master with his eyes squeezed shut tight in an expression of utter bliss. The Master liked to think that expression was 95% due to him, and only 5% due to the Jelly Baby.

Once done, the Doctor inconsiderately did not finish the Master off but instead continued to hunt down the Jelly Babies that had escaped, gathering them all back into his bag.

“A little help here?” the Master glared at him, stroking his own erection wantonly.

The Doctor grinned at him unrepentantly, “Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing.”

The Master groaned and banged his head back against the pillows and wanked himself off while the Doctor recovered his precious Jelly Babies.

“Next time,” the Doctor said, “if you want me to pay more attention to you, you might try not making Jelly Babies the scarcer commodity. Did you know that _someone_ managed to cut off the entire universe’s stock? Redirected it all here. Imagine that! Obviously someone unfamiliar with the theory of supply-and-demand.” He pressed an enthusiastic peck to the Master’s lips.

“Oh, go ahead and escape!” the Master grumbled. “See if I ever bother to set up a trap this lovely for you again…”

The Doctor jutted out his lower lip, looking actively hurt. “No, don’t be like that,” he said, and kissed the Master again, slowly and languidly this time. He pulled back a minute or so later. “It really was a lovely trap,” he insisted. “We must do it again some time.” Then, he flashed the Master a mercurial grin—“Bye, now!”—and escaped.

The Master didn’t even bother to look up to see how he’d done it; Doctors gonna Doctor, and all that.

***

The Master exited Door Number One and watched as his trap rearranged itself so that the Fourth Doctor’s now-empty Door Number One vanished, and the Fifth Doctor’s Door Number Two slid back into the Door Number One slot. The Master smirked to himself: after the Fourth Doctor’s unpredictable behaviour, he found himself looking forward to Five’s wonderfully submissive roleplay from earlier.

However, just as the Master reached for the doorknob, the chimes rang yet again. Door Number Two sped to the right, and a new Door Number One stood before the Master.

“What—?” He paused, opened the door, and demanded, “Who now?”

The Sixth Doctor looked very, _very_ huffy at the garb the Master had inflicted upon him. “Oh, I might have known it was you, you Machiavellian malefactor!” he scowled magnificently.

“‘Machiavellian’?” the Master retorted. “It is literally a kiosk with a hand-written sign that says ‘Free Jelly Babies!’ with a jet of knock-out gas, a trap-door, and a clothing transmuter for anyone who grabs a bag. I can’t _believe_ three of you have now fallen for it! In the face of such ineptitude, I claim complete innocence.”

This, of course, put the Sixth Doctor into an even greater snit; the Master could generally rely on the fact that _anything_ he said would put the Sixth Doctor into an even greater snit.

“Inno—? Innocence? _Innocence_!” the Doctor sputtered. “Ha! This malfeasance only magnifies your malevolent machinations!”

Apparently today was a ‘letter M’ day. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing: after all, the word ‘Master’ also began with the letter M…

“Now, now, Doctor,” the Master crept into the Doctor’s personal space. “Is that any way to treat your new lord and Master?”

The Doctor bristled and stepped right into the Master’s personal space in return so that they were nose to nose, with the Doctor waggling one finger right at the Master’s cheek. The Doctor’s breath was warm and smelled sweetly of devoured Jelly Babies. The Doctor opened his mouth, no doubt to expel the entire M-section of the dictionary, when the bell chimed rudely again.

The Doctor shut his mouth, paused, then reopened it.

The chime sounded again.

And then, before the Doctor could so much as open his mouth, a third time.

The Sixth Doctor frowned with concern and, tellingly, dropped the M’s. “I don’t suppose that indicates—?” he asked in vain hope.

“We don’t have time for our usual repartee,” the Master agreed wearily. “I have three more of you in waiting.”

The Doctor’s face fell. “Oh,” he said, looking a bit forlorn. “Shall I just escape now, then, if you’re so busy?”

If there was one thing the Master couldn’t stand to see, it was such a spectacular egotist looking so dejected. “Oh, come here,” he offered. “I have time to blow you, at least.”

The Doctor perked up at that, settled himself obligingly down on the end of the bed, and whimpered in all the right places while the Master sucked him quickly and efficiently off. Usually, the Master liked to draw this sort of thing out more, make this arrogant Doctor _really_ writhe for him, but he was in high demand today, it seemed. Nevertheless, the Doctor looked properly dazed and flushed after the Master swallowed him down.

“Ah,” the Doctor said ruefully, “parting is such sweet—”

“Save it for next time,” the Master gave him a goodbye peck. “You pick the letter, and I’ll bring my thesaurus and a digital copy of the OED.”

“Will you really?” the Doctor asked hopefully.

“Promise.”

***

The Master froze when he opened the newest Door Number One. There were four doors now (the Sixth Doctor having obviously escaped somehow without coming out into the hallway; someday, the Master would really have to learn how they all did that). As such, the Master was thinking he might have to ration his energy.

The Doctor trapped inside wasn’t his. That, of course, meant that he _should_ have let him go, a bit of quick catch-and-release. But, on the other hand, the Tenth Doctor looked _so tempting_ spread out half-naked on the bed like that, still unconscious from the Master’s sedative, the bag of Jelly Babies clutched in his hand.

The Master paused, spared absolutely zero thoughts for what the Tenth Doctor’s Master would say to such blatant Doctor-theft, and stepped into the room.

“Ha!” The Master spun around at the sound of the door slamming shut behind him. “I _knew_ it was me!”

Oh dear. Hiding behind the door was the Eighteenth Master, looking positively _livid_ , along with the Tenth Doctor’s TARDIS.

“Oops?” the Master offered unapologetically.

“‘Oops’?” the Eighteenth Master snarled. “Is that all you have to say for yourself? After deliberately and maliciously luring in _my_ Doctor!”

“Deliberately?” the Master scoffed. “It’s hardly _my_ fault if your Doctor is a whore for Jelly Babies.”

The Eighteenth Master’s eyes narrowed, and he huffed out a hot puff of breath in the Master’s face that was probably supposed to be intimidating. “If I catch you anywhere near my Doctor again…” he threatened before stalking over to the bed, yanking the Tenth Doctor’s limp body up into his arms, and staggering furiously – the Tenth Doctor had some impressively long limbs that tended to spill out all over the place – over to the Doctor’s TARDIS. He paused right in the doorway, gnashed his teeth at the Master, and said, “ _Mine_!” before exiting dramatically.

***

The Master closed the door behind the whooshing TARDIS wearily, and then cautiously approached the new Door Number One. Slowly, he pushed open the door, an inch at a time, and peered inside (peered behind the door too, just in case).

The Eighth Doctor lay sprawled out on the bed on his back, arms and legs stretched out seductively to the curved edges. The Eighth Doctor had apparently also eschewed his harem-wear and was completely naked, hard, and inviting. His long hair spilled out onto the pale-blue sheets, a cascade of enticing curls as silky as the fabric it rested upon.

The Master gulped at the alluring vision before him.

The Eighth Doctor looked at him with limpid bedroom eyes and then requested, huskily, “Goo-snake?”

The Master banged his head on the door in frustration. “No goo-snake!” he insisted for the umpteenth time.

***

It had taken the usual petty banter to drag the Eighth Doctor (still naked) out of the bedroom and back upstairs where his TARDIS (and quite a few others; it was turning into a bit of a police-box parking lot) awaited. Who knew how Eight would get to his TARDIS without any clothes, but then gratuitous public nudity had never seemed to bother Eight in the slightest, so the Master was convinced he could manage.

Muttering under his breath, the Master threw open the door to Room Number One again (now once more the only remaining room other than the Fifth Doctor’s). And blinked.

The Eighth Doctor was draped naked across the bed, this time on his stomach with his legs spread suggestively. He looked back over his shoulder at the Master coquettishly. “Goo-snake?” he suggested and winked.

“Gah! How in Gallifrey’s name are you here _twice_?!” the Master demanded in horror.

The Eighth Doctor pouted. “You threw me out without any clothes,” he said, completely ignoring the temporal paradox wherein he’d arrived _before_ the Master had even thrown him out. “I had to come back to get some. So…goo-snake?”

The Master threw him out, with clothes this time.

***

The chime rang three more times while the Master was manhandling Eight out for the second time. The Master was starting to think that there was a tiny flaw in his plan. He hoped the three new doors didn’t all contain Eight in triplicate; he wouldn’t put it past the Eighth Doctor in the slightest.

He checked at the door this time to see which version of himself he manifested as. He’d done so much body-snatching in his lifetime that he tended not to notice when he switched. But, if he was in the body of that EMT what’s-his-name, that was a dead giveaway that the Eighth Doctor was on the other side. Fortunately, he wasn’t. He was in his Thirteenth incarnation’s original body, which he only wore with his Third Doctor, or else with all the Doctors who weren’t contemporaneous with him: they all tended to think of him this way, unless they had a clear association otherwise.

He knew which option _he_ hoped was inside.

Slowly, he opened the door…

…And relaxed his shoulders with a relieved sigh when he saw the Third Doctor lounging back amongst the pillows, looking perfectly at ease in his harem attire, and taking full advantage of the bowl of grapes that had been left on the sideboard. “My dear fellow,” the Third Doctor looked up at him in surprise, muffling the words a bit around the grape still in his mouth, “you look positively done in for!”

The Master sighed wearily. “I am not having a good day,” he admitted, and slumped inside.

“My poor darling,” the Third Doctor said sympathetically and patted the mattress beside him. “I insist that you come to bed immediately.”

The Master might have put on a bit more of a show of his exhaustion than was entirely accurate as he did so. But it was just so _nice_ to have the Third Doctor fuss over him, stroking his hair and beard so tenderly, removing every stitch of his clothing with soothing little clucks, feeding him the odd sweet grape in the intervals, kissing and massaging every inch of his body and making fine use of all the exotic oils on the nightstand as he did so.

“I love you,” the Master admitted, and really, _really_ meant it in that moment.

“Yes, well…” The Third Doctor made a frustrated face. “…Yes,” he finished lamely.

For the Third Doctor, that was even an effusive romantic declaration. The Master relaxed into the Third Doctor’s body, let him take him in every way imaginable, let himself drift off in the Third Doctor’s arms afterward, just for a bit.

Alas, the Third Doctor woke him far too soon, with a firm kiss to the forehead.

“What now?” the Master grumbled.

“Your little chimes have just rung.”

“Oh.”

“Twice.”

“ _Damn_.”

“Yes,” the Doctor agreed, “quite.”

The Master gave him a long, lingering kiss. “When all this is done,” he promised, “I’m coming back for you.” His dance-card was quite full at this point, but after that delightful interlude, he’d _make_ time for this Doctor, still his first and most cherished.

“Yes, well,” the Doctor agreed in parting, “I should certainly hope so.”

“You’ll see yourself out?”

“Yes,” the Third Doctor grinned rakishly, “I’ve quite been looking forward to seeing whether escape through that skylight is possible.”

“Of course you have,” the Master said with a roll of his eyes.

***

The damned chime rang _again_ as the Third Doctor made his escape. That meant that the Master now had _six_ doors to deal with. He’d just made the decision to disable his trap upstairs before the Doctors accumulated to entirely unmanageable numbers, when the door to Room Number Three popped open.

An anxious towhead peered around the doorway.

Alas, not the towhead the Master was looking forward to returning to.

“What are _you_ doing here?” the Master demanded, grabbed the First Doctor by the elbow and dragged him out into the (now quite-lengthy) corridor where the Master could get a good look at him. The First Doctor varied quite a lot by age, depending on how one ran into him, but this version was barely more than an adolescent.

The First Doctor tried to flutter his eyelashes in a way that undoubtedly would have given the Master’s pre-pubescent self an immediate boner, but was thoroughly ineffective on a Time Lord with his experience in the Doctors’ more _sophisticated_ means of courtship. “Waiting for you?”

Dear lord, the boy even sounded unsure of himself. “No, no,” the Master said, pulling the First Doctor along with him back upstairs, “I don’t have time for this sort of thing. And, honestly? Find yourself a more age-appropriate Master. You can’t be a day over a hundred!”

The First Doctor pouted and then, in a heartsbeat, advanced to the end of his term. “Is that better?” he asked hopefully and he probably thought flirtatiously.

“A day over _four_ hundred,” the Master corrected. “Still not interested in robbing the cradle.” They came to the control panel for the Master’s trap, and the Master turned the switch to off just a bit viciously. Then he grabbed some boards and nails and stalked out to the front.

The First Doctor slouched after him petulantly; he was back to looking like his Academy self again. “But why not?” he whined. “I’m old enough! I’m ready!”

The Master rolled his eyes. He very much did not miss this sort of youthful drama. “Go find my First incarnation,” he insisted and began boarding over the trapdoor, hitting the nails with perhaps a bit more malice than was strictly necessary. “Take him someplace nice. Say, a peaceful little planet with a highly precarious political system that will collapse into civil war with just the slightest provocation. Remember to open doors and pull out chairs. And accept coregency _gracefully_ when he offers it you: none of those moral lectures you’re so fond of!”

“But…” The Doctor frowned. “You really think that will work?”

The Master looked the Doctor up and down. He’d forgotten how scrawny the Doctor had been in his early years. “Maybe you’d better buy him some roses, too. _Nice_ ones that don’t look as though you’ve dragged them through a ventilation shaft or nine.”

The Doctor nodded eagerly at this advice.

The Master, with great satisfaction, brought down the ‘Free Jelly Babies!’ sign with a giant crowbar. He debated breaking the boards over his knee. A good dozen times or so.

“Can I have that?” the First Doctor’s voice was still doing that embarrassing whiny, breaking thing.

The Master paused and considered. Puerile as this Doctor was, he was still an _excellent_ source of chaos in the universe. Rassilon only knew what he’d come up with to do with a ‘Free Jelly Babies!’ sign. “You may,” the Master conceded graciously.

The Doctor flashed him a grin, like the Master had hung the sun and the moon, and now the Doctor was going to commit such beautiful mischief with them both. The Master’s breath caught in his throat the way it always did when he was on the receiving end of _that smile_. Stupid, stupid hormones! He’d never be rid of them!

“Thanks!” the Doctor’s adolescent self chirped, gave him a quick hug, and dashed off for one of the parked TARDISes with the sign in tow.

Fuck, the Master hated his afterlife.

***

As the Master returned to his queue, he happened to spot – at first off in the distance like a mirage in the baking sun, but coming steadily closer – the Twelfth Doctor staggering toward his position with seeming difficulty. The Master frowned and then leaned far to one side at an angle to see that, behind the Twelfth Doctor, the Nineteenth Mistress had her arms wrapped tightly around his waist from behind and was digging her heels into the ground and attempting to pull the Doctor back with all her strength.

“It’s the universe’s most obvious _trap_ , you absolute imbecile!” she complained as her Doctor succeeded in lunging another foot forward.

“I’ll worry about that as soon as you can find some _other_ place in this universe that still stocks Jelly Babies,” he insisted stubbornly.

The Nineteenth Mistress rolled her eyes, then caught sight of the Master and glared at him. “This is all _your_ doing,” she accused.

“You’re just jealous because you wish you’d thought of it first,” he retorted.

She shrugged, conceding his point. “Be that as it may, you’re not abducting _my_ Doctor. Over my dead body!”

The Doctor, in the meantime, had noticed that the ‘Free Jelly Babies!’ sign was down. His face fell. “Don’t tell me the trap is _closed_!”

The Master sighed and handed the Doctor the bag of Jelly Babies that had been in the trap when he’d shut it down. “You’re the last. Spread the word. _Please_.”

The Doctor beamed at him and finally let the Nineteenth Mistress drag him back safely into the direction of his TARDIS. She looked back over her shoulder to stick her tongue out at the Master, for good measure.

He sighed wearily. Hopefully, _that_ end of his little problem was now resolved.

***

Back to work on the other end of his trap, then. Door Number One: _again_!

The Thirteenth Doctor scowled back out at the Master, although the effect was rather ruined by the fact that she was chewing murderously on a Jelly Baby.

The Master, when setting his trap, hadn’t actually paused to consider how the harem attire would appear on a female Doctor. The top did very little to conceal her breasts at all. Her nipples showed through the opening in front. Rather lovely, really.

The Master debated for one moment, then recalled how absolutely psycho this Doctor’s corresponding Master was. He shut the door again and then telepathically contacted his Twentieth self.

“This had better be important!” his Twentieth incarnation demanded, stalking down the stairs only minutes later.

“A present for you,” the Master replied and flung open the door once again.

The Twentieth Master’s eyes lit up like it was Christmas.

“Have fun!” the Master said and shoved Twenty inside. “Let her out when you’re done!”

There. Handled!

The Master stepped up to Door Number Two:

“Oh, _fuck_!”

The War Doctor glowered out at him.

The Master slammed the door shut, took several deep breaths, and peered back inside.

“You!” the War Doctor demanded. “Boy! What’s the meaning of this? I thought I might take just a _tiny_ break from the war rationing, and I find myself trussed up like _this_?!” The ensemble really, _really_ was not flattering on the War Doctor. “I have half a mind to—”

The Master slammed the door back shut before the dressing-down could continue further. He felt rather like a shepherd who’d brought his flock in for the evening only to discover that he’d somehow managed to corral a charging rhino in with the rest of his sheep by mistake.

There was only one thing to do for it.

The telepathic message he sent to the War Master was quite a deal more dignified than “Help! War Doctor! _SAVE ME_!” but that was still the gist of it.

_Right._ He braced himself. Door Number Three!

“Goo-snake?”

“Oh, not again! I might have known!” The Master yanked the Eighth Doctor, for the _third_ time, kicking and screaming from his harem bed. “You have definite issues, you know,” he informed the Eighth Doctor, who was now trying licking the Master’s throat as some sort of enticement to get him to transform him into that damned goo-snake. “What’s _with_ you and the goo-snake, anyway?”

“The goo-snake is efficient!” the Eighth Doctor insisted. “It has everything I want: your brilliant mind,” he curled his fingers into the Master’s hair and pulled him close, “and a very large phallic object.” He ground into the Master’s thigh and then kissed him passionately. “No unnecessary muss or fuss,” the Doctor said when he pulled away.

Damn. The Master, foolishly, hadn’t thought that this Doctor could actually be _persuasive_ on the whole goo-snake matter. He gulped and gave the Eighth Doctor a playful pat on the rear as he hustled him out the door. “Get all my other selves who are sniffing about you to agree to it, and I’ll _think_ about it,” he conceded.

The Eighth Doctor beamed at him, kissed him again, and bounded off happily.

The Master took a good, long moment to be absolutely horrified at what he was now actively considering.

Then he turned back to the task at hand: two doors left.

“Once more unto the breach!” he sighed, and went.

***

The Fourth Doctor was, once again, lying on the bed smugly, throwing Jelly Babies up into the air smugly and then catching them in his mouth smugly, all while grinning out at the Master. (Smugly.)

“I hate you,” the Master simmered with rage.

The Fourth Doctor blinked innocently up at him with a surprised ‘who, me?’ expression on his face.

“Yes, _you_ ,” the Master accused. “You’re behind all this, aren’t you? Don’t think for a second that I don’t recognise your handiwork.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the Fourth Doctor said, still smiling that idiotic, punchable smile. “This is all _your_ trap.”

“And…?”

“And,” the Doctor shrugged, “I may have just _happened_ to mention, to a few of my closest selves, that it contained free Jelly Babies.” He took a bite out of another one and masticated thoughtfully. “…And a free Master.”

“Ha! I knew it! Malicious sabotage from the get-go. And now…what? You’ve come back to gloat?”

The Doctor looked downright pained at the accusation. “Gloat? Heavens no! I’m not _you_. I just ran out of Jelly Babies—”

“You came back literally sixteen minutes after you left the first time!”

“—And since you reprogrammed the universe so that this was the only location where they can be acquired—”

“I’ve switched it back! There, are you happy? You’ve won. You can get Jelly Babies _everywhere_. I’ve learned my lesson. I’ll never mess with the supply lines again!”

“—I had to come back.”

“Even though you already _knew_ it was a trap?” the Master asked suspiciously.

“Even though I already knew it was a trap,” the Doctor conceded. “Because, you see, I’d unfortunately _also_ run out of Master.” He let his legs fall open invitingly.

The Master paused, taken aback.

“What do you say?” the Doctor asked. “Or do you still hate me?” he pouted.

The Master prowled over to the bed, climbed up upon it right between the Doctor’s spread legs, and _loomed_ at him.

The Doctor continued to grin merrily, like this was all a lovely lark in the park.

“I _really_ hate you,” the Master insisted.

“Then best do so before I change my mind again, yes?” the Doctor suggested.

The Master ripped off the Doctor’s pants eagerly, yanked down his own, and hated the Fourth Doctor good and hard and long.

***

By the time the Master finally escaped the Fourth Doctor’s clutches (because, as much as he’d intended the opposite, that was entirely what this farce had transformed into), his trap was empty. He stared forlornly at where Door Number One should be, missing its presence for the first time since this whole debacle had started.

With the Master’s luck, he might’ve known: the one and only Doctor to appreciate the brilliance of his trap’s décor, and he’d lost what remained of his patience and escaped. Knowing Five’s general tetchiness, the Master had no doubt that he’d be shunned for this slight for a good, long while; Five held such spectacular grudges. The Master took a moment to mourn the loss of the Fifth Doctor’s beautiful, yielding buttocks and, glumly, returned home.

Back in the Matrix, it turned out that the ‘Free Jelly Babies!’ sign was now being put to good use in a new shop that had materialised within the Doctors’ atrium. Unsurprisingly, it was a popular place. The Master, who had firmly hoped the sign would be put to _evil_ use, tried not to be too discouraged about this fact.

He made his way back to his own room because he didn’t particularly feel up to the Doctors’ gloating (which they all did, copiously, no matter how much they all denied it). Perhaps he’d feel better after a good rest. He _had_ overexerted himself rather more than he’d intended today, after all, and—

He froze when he opened the door to his room.

In his absence, the Matrix construct had been transformed so that it exactly mimicked the sex-slave chambers from his trap, from the spacious bed to the billowing fabric to the ornamental wood filigree on the walls. And there, directly at the centre of the bed was—

“Ah, ah!” the Fifth Doctor squirmed uselessly, face buried in the pillows, naked arse in the air, and hands tied once again behind his back with silk. “Must. Escape! Before that evil, evil villain returns and violates my body in all sorts of horrible, deviant ways!”

The Master felt his hearts pound rapturously in his chest. Somehow, the Fifth Doctor had found it in his hearts to grant the Master a _reprieve_ , just this once. The Master tried not to choke up about it. He _wanted_ to fall to his knees and spew sappy sonnets and cover this Doctor in kisses, because this was _exactly_ what he needed at the end of a tortuous day. But, of course, that was not the game he’d promised this beautiful, wonderful, _forgiving_ Doctor…

Instead, he composed himself and then let loose with his evillest cackle; it reverberated quite diabolically around the harem walls. “You are too late, dear, sweet Doctor!” he bombasted villainously and moved over to triumphantly clutch one of the Doctor’s waggling arse-cheeks where it waved in the air enticingly at the Doctor’s pretend struggles to free himself. “Your time has run out, and now you are mine to do with as I please!”

“N-No!” the Doctor exclaimed, mock-helplessly. “Release me at once!”

“Why, Doctor,” the Master growled in his lowest, most menacing voice, savouring the shivers it sent noticeably down the Doctor’s arched spine. He reached out to squeeze the Doctor’s obviously _extremely_ eager erection. “ _Release_ is exactly what you’ll get!” It was corny, even for him, but – oh – how it made this Doctor writhe!

The Master – still gloved, and why not given how pretty this Doctor’s pale skin looked against the black? – slid one index finger past the Doctor’s sweet pucker.

The Doctor let out a ragged moan and couldn’t help but push back into the intrusion. “Y-You villain…” he managed weakly. “Y-You wouldn’t dare… _Please_!” A pause as he remembered himself. “Stop!” he hastily amended. “Please stop!”

The Master pulled the finger back out slowly, crooking the tip as he did so, so that the soft leather caressed all the pleasure points within the Doctor’s passage. As he’d expected, the glove came out slicked generously with scented oil. The Doctor had prepared himself well while he waited. Under different circumstances, the Master would have got quite a lot of mileage out of taunting the Doctor at his whorish lust, but this was a whole new game with new rules.

“This will all go more smoothly,” the Master breathed hot against the back of the Doctor’s neck, leaning over him, too close, “if you don’t fight me.” With his free hand, he unfastened his trousers and pushed them out of the way. “ _Let me in_ ,” he menaced, and quite effectively too if he did say so himself.

Apparently the Doctor agreed because he actually _trembled_ as the Master pushed his cock into the Doctor’s awaiting heat, slippery and effortless with the Doctor’s generous preparations.

“There, now,” the Master soothed with a final flick of his hips, so that his balls smacked against the Doctor’s arse with a nice echoing slap of finality, “isn’t it so much better when you just give in to your Master?”

“You’ll never be my Master!” the Doctor insisted valiantly. “I’ll never give in to you! I… I… _Oh_!”

The Master pulled out to the very tip, and then thrust all the way back in as hard and fast as he could. The oil that coated the Doctor from inside made the going so _easy_. “You, my sweet”—the Master thrust in and out again—“would be more convincing”—a rough twist of his hips that sent a whimper from the Doctor’s lips—“if your body wasn’t so very, _very_ welcoming.”

As if in answer, the Doctor clenched and unclenched around him, urging him on.

“It excites you, doesn’t it?” the Master persisted, driving in and out of the Doctor with each taunt. “You’ve secretly always wanted this. To be defeated. Debased. _Debauched_ ,” to use the Doctor’s own insightful term from earlier. “You’ve always known that a little bit of _me_ ,” he pulled out all the way, until the Doctor’s entrance was twitching helplessly to keep the tip of him inside, “is in _you_.” He glided inside to the root in one swift motion, rocking the Doctor’s hips forward at the force of his thrust. “Or quite a lot of me, as the case may be…”

The Doctor came hard and fast in response, entirely untouched, body spasming and trembling, head thrown back gorgeously, eyes squeezed shut tight and leaking tears of pleasure from the corners.

This Doctor had always been exquisite when he came.

The Master didn’t fight the tide, let the Doctor’s body convulse his own orgasm out of him, milking him of every last drop of come the Doctor could get. “Such a greedy little arse-hole…” the Master whispered affectionately into the Doctor’s hair as they collapsed down onto the mattress, atop each other. “You’ll be the end of me yet.” He nuzzled the Doctor’s cheek, and earned himself an aborted laugh when the Master’s beard tickled the sensitive skin of the Doctor’s throat.

The Doctor plucked his arms from behind his back – miraculously untied and escaped, imagine that – and reached back to grab hold of the Master’s arm and pull it around him like a very heavy blanket. “I do hope that wasn’t a complaint.”

“Oh no, my dear, not at all.” The Master began trailing soft kisses across the Doctor’s shoulder. “I cannot imagine a more pleasant way to go.”

“Good,” the Doctor huffed and snuggled into him closer. “I’d hate to think you were unappreciative. Especially after how long you left me waiting.”

“And here I was, foolishly hoping you’d forgotten all that,” the Master said in his most charming voice.

“Oh, you wish,” the Doctor re-huffed. “In case you haven’t already figured it out, you will be pleasing me the rest of the night, however I choose, to make it up to me.”

The Master sighed. It just went to prove that even the most compliant of Doctors made an absolutely terrible sex-slave. Not that he’d have it any other way. He continued kissing his way along the Doctor’s throat and earned himself a contented little mumble in response.

“What was that?”

The Doctor bit his lip as he considered. “I don’t suppose…” he began hesitantly, “that you _kept_ that harem-trap of yours?”

“It’s completely shut down. With a vengeance.”

“Oh.” The Doctor sounded disappointed.

“Oh?” the Master prodded.

“Well,” the Doctor said, “since you can’t really keep your room like this permanently,” he gestured to the billowing silks that, yes, would really be quite obnoxious on a day-to-day basis, “I’d thought maybe we could…you know…”

The Matrix preserve him from repressed Doctors and their complete inability to ever say what they wanted or felt!

“Hmm, yes,” he agreed instead. “That trap _was_ a fair bit of work, after all. It would be a shame to lose it. Perhaps it’d be better to just relocate it, where certain disruptive Doctors”—i.e. _Four_ , that absolute bastard—“can’t disturb it. Right next to Castrovalva, say? Keep all my pleasure palaces in one place. That way, certain more _appreciative_ Doctors could have their pick of where to be my unwilling captive…”

The Fifth Doctor shivered in response. “That seems like a sound plan. Less wasteful, for certain.”

“Oh,” the Master agreed and held him close, “you have no idea how glad I am that you approve.”

Except, of course, that his erection was back, so the Fifth Doctor knew _exactly_ how glad he really was and would be, it seemed, all night long.

**Author's Note:**

> For the record, this was originally supposed to be just a basic Five/Ainley PWP fic. Then Four barged in and derailed everything. And Six. And Eight. And every other Doctor (as they do).


End file.
